


Death of Pain

by Anastasie Elise (IzzyBells)



Series: These Vampires Are Technically Antiques [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Human familiar, Human/Vampire Relationship, Vampires, just a peaceful morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28067082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzzyBells/pseuds/Anastasie%20Elise
Summary: The tracks ascended, lifting the train out of the artificial night of the tunnels and into the true night watching over the elevated rails.  “This is Fullerton.  Transfer to brown and purple trains at Fullerton,” announced the recording.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: These Vampires Are Technically Antiques [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055990





	Death of Pain

**Author's Note:**

> just a little something that introduces modern-day Clarity. written in 2019, my personal houseplant fantasy

The gentle rocking of the subway train was comforting, and the steady noise of the wheels on the tracks was soothing. Though the harsh artificial light did no favors for any of the handful of other passengers in her car, Clarity surveyed them with a kind of peaceful appreciation. She found that people were beautiful for what they were, each with their own thrumming life energy in their heart and in their lungs. Now that she no longer considered them like prey creatures, she listened to the soft breathing, watched the fluttering pulses, and took in their existence the way someone might observe an art exhibit, studying the details and contemplating the stories behind the brushstrokes. Clarity loved humans the way a house cat loved humans.

The tracks ascended, lifting the train out of the artificial night of the tunnels and into the true night watching over the elevated rails. “This is Fullerton. Transfer to brown and purple trains at Fullerton,” announced the recording.

Clarity stood, shouldering her black leather purse and moving towards the doors just in time for them to slide open. The rush of fresh air felt good against her skin, and she took a deep breath to smell the night just because she wanted to before trekking down the stairs off the platform. It was nice to be almost home after her shift at work. Admittedly, she had no reason to be working at all, not by this point in time. Years upon years of account interest and return on investments did add up, after all, and since Clarity had been saving for longer than America had been a country, her personal funds were vast, even after that fiasco with the stock market several decades ago. Regardless, working a handful of shifts every week kept her sharp and grounded, she felt. If that didn’t get her out of the house and interacting with mortal culture, how else would she ever stay up-to-date with society? Clarity did try staying home and lounging her time away once, but when she finally got her hands on a newspaper after she had drove herself beyond boredom, two years had passed and her country had gone and gotten itself in another war. She was so shocked by how quickly time slipped by that she refused to remove herself from it ever again.

Her home in this city was the one filled with houseplants. Perhaps the little rectangle of yard out front was just barely healthy grass, but inside, almost every spare surface had a pot of something or other sitting there. She dropped her keys in the dish next to her front hall fern and shucked off her shoes, then wandered into the kitchen to drop her purse on the counter next to her succulent collection. Muscle memory led her hand up to brush the trailing vines of baby bunny belly and golden pothos out of harm’s way as she opened the fridge to retrieve the blood bag she had left there to thaw from frozen earlier that night. Around the palm that was starting to get too big for it’s usual spot and up the stairs Clarity went, sucking from the blood bag like it was one of those squeeze apple sauce packets, or maybe a GoGurt tube. There were more ferns of varying kinds in the bathroom, along with two hanging spider plants, and Clarity set down the half-empty bag to wash her hands from work and remove her makeup. She’d be relaxing for the rest of her waking hours. 

It was barely five in the morning, so Clarity sat in the study to finish her meal and read for a while longer. Recently she’d been enjoying French absurdist theater, and she had just started rereading Huis Clos, the Sartre play, the day before. The occasional car passing outside and the ever-present sirens in the distance created an ambient white noise behind the heavy velvet drapes in the study. They were closed, of course, as were all the other dark curtains in every window in the place. Sunlight didn’t enter the house, not until after Clarity was asleep—then Nathan let in the light to nurture her plants. 

The man himself, just as she was getting into the meat of the plot, shuffled into the study from the bedroom with the scuff of bare feet on wood floors. She heard him yawn, and she checked the time: just a little under an hour since she sat down. He neared her, moving with less noise now on the soft rug, and draped his arms around her shoulders.

“Good morning,” she said, kissing the side of the wrist in front of her face, just next to the various pink scars from her teeth.

“Mm, g’morning,” he replied, dropping an imprecise kiss to the top of her head, nuzzling against her blonde hair. “Dj’you eat?”

“I had something waiting for me in the fridge, yes.” Clarity turned her head to catch his lips, once, then again. “Do you want to go back to bed for a few moments?”

He yawned again. “You gotta go to sleep, I gotta get ready for class.”

“I didn’t say back to sleep.”

“Hmm.” Nathan pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, then pulled away entirely. “Tempting,” he said, “but I gotta leave enough time to finish my—“ he yawned as he turned to head towards the bathroom, “—my lab report.”

Watching him go, Clarity offered a fond smile. “Very well,” she said, and returned to her reading. He was a grad student, studying something about biology. That was one reason why Clarity kept this house filled with plants: there was always someone here to take care of them.

She heard the toilet flush, then the rush of the shower starting. The scrape of the metal curtain rings on the rod, open and closed. Open again. Clarity looked up from the play just before the door to the bathroom opened, and she leaned to see out of the study and across the hall. Nathan stuck his head out into the hallway. 

“Hey,” he said, raising his voice a little to be heard over the shower, “did you want me to water the plants while I’m in here?” She nodded. He gave her a thumbs up, then added, “It’s sunrise, by the way.”

“Yep, thanks.” He must have opened the blinds in the bathroom.

Looking now at the ceiling in her study, Clarity could see the first weak beams of light coming in around the tops of the drapes. She stood, stretched her arms up above her head, arching her back like a cat, and marked her place in the book by turning down the corner of the page. As she walked past the bathroom, she could hear Nathan humming quietly to himself in the shower, snapping the plastic cap of a soap bottle shut. There was a loud, hollow bang, the sound of that same bottle falling to the shower floor, followed by a string of swear words, and Clarity smiled to herself before continuing on into the bedroom. 

There were no plants in the bedroom. Sunlight never entered the bedroom, not even enough for those plants that claimed to be hardy enough for no-light conditions. She had put light-blocking film over the window panes and added the same dark, heavy drapes for good measure. The velvet fabric was always pulled closed when she was in residence—though she suspected Nathan let the light in when she was away. It was all necessary. These days, coffins were built ugly, all rectangular boxes with no style, and they were inconvenient to travel with or ship anywhere what with security scans and all that nonsense. Clarity owned one coffin, an ancient antique now, made during America’s Golden Age after the war, but it never left her Boston house. Besides, she felt they were more of a luxury, having spent a long time without the opportunity to use one herself. Just a bed in a dark room was enough for her.

Clarity changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, hanging her jeans neatly and tossing her blouse into the laundry hamper. Tomorrow night she would have to wash a load or two, she thought. Limbs beginning to feel heavy, she crawled into bed, settling herself under the sheets and oversized comforter. She was asleep before Nathan finished his shower. He came into the bedroom and dressed quietly, stepping into the hallway to make sure what he was wearing matched, being careful not to disturb Clarity in her deathlike rest. She did not dream.


End file.
